


“You want it darker”, an answer to the Shanty Challenge

by AzureAngel2



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 22:57:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12641013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzureAngel2/pseuds/AzureAngel2
Summary: Summary: Four men, all servants of the Galactic Empire, meet in a cantina. One of them has an astonishing secret that he is forced to reveal by accident.Time frame: 14 BBYPlanet of choice: LothalDisclaimer: SW is owned by George Lucas, Lucas Ltd. and now The Walt Disney Company





	“You want it darker”, an answer to the Shanty Challenge

** **Title:** ** **_“You want it darker”_** , an answer to the Shanty Challenge

 

Once Lothal had been a beautiful world. In its temperate climate the Jogan fruit had grown effortlessly. There also had been huge carpets of spine tree forests and prairies sprinkled with rock formations. Of course there had been patches of farmland, too, but somehow the natural environment had been well-balanced.

Now factories and mines polluted and marred much of the once pristine planet surface. There was a reason behind it. The Empire had a five-year plan for several Outer Rim worlds, including Lothal. Each plan dealt with all aspects of development, foremost the capital goods. This planet unfortunately had minerals, including the scarce kyber crystals.

In a decade this world would be ruined beyond repair. Another decade later it would contain less life than Hoth or Mustafar.

Disgusted, Lieutenant Crix Madine from the Imperial Special Forces put his metal mug down. “This is not Correllian ale!” he complained and added a quick curse in Olys Corellisi. “ _Halle metes chun, petchuck.”_

He stared reproachfully into the mug.

_“_ This is but warm bantha piss,” he added.

“There is nothing wrong with your drink, but your head, ginger!” commented a cool voice from behind him. “Be glad that Old Jho is in the back and cannot hear your abusive rant! He is old enough to understand your mother language.”

The Imperial officer swung around in his seat, facing the newcomer. That man, fourteen years his senior, was familiar to him since his childhood days. They had fought bitter battles together, shared Mamma Gita’s self-made cookies later on.

“Meeting here is a mistake!” he complained to his foster brother. “Hey wait, why am I wearing a uniform and you are not?”

Dravits Draven, a blond giant, shrugged. He was an agent of the military intelligence forces.“Because I am a cautious man and you are not? It is called camouflage. Should I spell it for you?”

“This entire planet has gone down the drain,” huffed Crix Madine.

“Would you rather have gone to Naboo? To that dreadful mausoleum the old man has build for her? Bringing white roses with you?” The agent sat down on one of the barstools. “Or would you rather be with our parents? Sitting down with them at the kitchen table and review what happened to Nagina? Are you sure about that? They never read the autopsy report. We did.”

Both men exchanged an intense glare.

The sudden clinking of glasses reminded them that they were not alone in the universe, let alone in this establishment.

“Gentlemen, there is no need for a bar fight!” announced the heavily accented voice of a third man. “ _Are you off your faces already?_ You both just arrived.”

Large hairy hands put down four wine glasses. 

“Old stinker! What a surprise!” hissed Dravits Draven in utter disgust as he gazed at the human in a white uniform, that had a flamboyant cape.

The director of Advanced Weapons Research division, Orson Krennic, bowed mockingly to his old childhood enemy.

“What brought you here, Orry?” Crix Madine managed to ask. “This is a family reunion.”

“Is it now? Well, imagine, I am still the custodian of her property. And ISB-021 here,” he made an inviting hand gesture, “Was so kind to inform me of your arrival.”

In the back of the cantina a tall man with strawberry-blond hair stepped out of a dark booth. He was dressed in a standard ISB uniform protected by a heavy black armoured vest and helmet.

“Alex!” commented Dravits Draven joylessly. “Long time no see!”

“Drav!” the other man answered with a curt nod before he joined them at the bar.

“We know one another from the Academy,” The agent explained to his foster brother under his breath. “Alexsandr is a jolly good agent. Level-headed, clever ruthless and cold as ice.”

The ISB agent gave Dravits Draven a crooked smile, mirth shining in his brown eyes. “You forgot to mention that I am cruel, remorseful and sadistic as well.”

“No wonder you and Krennic here hang around together in your leisure time,” his old comrade joked silkily.

“I am not off duty and the director is not either.”

“You two match perfectly though. When is the wedding? I would like to come.”

Agent Kallus’ jaw clenched, but before the tension could grow Orson Krennic grinned and stated, “You are both aware that Lothal is a restricted area?”

“Like the airspace of Geonosis?” probed Dravits Draven.

“Have a drink!” The director suggested, distant thunder in his voice. “Dehydrated men suffer from perception disorder and are prone to delusions.”

Dravits Draven held up a clenched fist, ready to rumble. “My memory is in perfect order. And I remember a lot of things Nagina told me before her death. Mostly about that toy of yours.”

Darkness crawled into the director’s features. “My DT-29 Heavy Blaster?” he suggested.

“No, much bigger than that.”

“Ina is a good story teller, always was. This why her _kindie_ kiddies loved her so much. You seem to be a fan of fairy-tales and urban myths as well.”

“Yes, we are all here for Nagina tonight,” Crix Madine threw in, before things really got out of hand.

“I am not,” prompted Agent Kallus unasked.

“It’s the fifth anniversary of her death,” the lieutenant argued on. “It should be a peaceful occasion, right?”

Orson Krennic started to chuckle, his eyes still on fire though. “Be lucky that I have two bottles of Naboo blossom wine with me instead of two arrest warrants!”

“I am not in the mood for wine,” riled Dravits Draven, an ugly snarl on his face.

“Make an exception, old buddy!” Orson Krennic said with a wink. “Ina would want us to behave civilized and not like a pack of rancors.”

Grudgingly, the two foster brothers took their glasses and followed their old foe to an illuminated booth. His aid trailed along. The promised wine bottles waited there and also a large Joghan fruit cake.

“This is macabre,” Crix Madine said wryly.

“ _Pig’s arse!_ It used to be her favourite type of cake. We will all have a piece and remember her nicely. This is what anniversaries are there for, right? To tenderly think of a beloved one that is gone.”

All of a sudden the director’s com rang. His facial expression fell apart, when he gazed at the contact data. “I-I need to take that call!” he stuttered.

“Be our guest!” purred Dravits Draven with narrowed eyes.

They all watched him running to the opposite end of the establishment. There he remained in a corner, various emotions shifting over his face. In a soft tone he started speaking to the caller.

“He has a daughter,” explained Dravits Draven.

“That is classified information,” Agent Kallus cut in.

“C’mon, everybody in internal affairs knows! Especially since he took a couple of months paternity leave for her. Besides, we are not talking about one of his usual weapon projects, but about a little girl he named after our deceased sister.”

“Nagina?” wondered Crix Madine, annoyance and astonishment swinging in his voice.

“No.” His foster brother shook his head. “Our sister’s second name.”

“Cassandra?”

Agent Kallus puffed up his cheeks before saying, “To be correct, he calls the child Cassie.”

The ginger-haired commander moved a hand over his hurting eyes. “I cannot imagine Orson to be a father. He hates children, always did.”

Dravits Draven made a discrete warning gesture, but the ISB agent was already on the case. “If you really must know: Jyn Erso is still alive, but in hiding with her parents,” he offered. “We spend a lot of time and resources to find them.”

“Why would you tell me something like this, Alex?”

“Because I can. My resources were always better than yours.” Agent Kallus gave back smugly. “The Erso family is one of your favourite research subjects the past years. This has not gone unnoticed by...”

Singing filled the air. It came from the director.

_“_ _Well my father often told me when I was just a lad,_

_A sailors life was very hard,_

_The food was always bad._

_But now I’ve joined the navy am aboard a Man o’ war,_

_Now I found a sailor ain_ ’ _t a sailor any more.”_

Perplexed, Crix Madine gaped at Orson Krennic. This was not a suitable song for a girl, leave alone any child. “How old is she?”

“Almost six, but what can you do?” The ISB agent rolled his eyes. “It is night time on Coruscant and little Cassie has those nightmares. The sound of her father’s voice always works miracles on her.”

Dravits Draven remained unnaturally still, not making one of his usual caustic remarks. His hands were creased in front of him, right there on the table surface. The most scary thing though was his glassy gaze. He looked like a man who just faced an apparition.

_“_ _Don’t haul on the ropes,_

_Don’t climb up the mast,_

_If you see a sailing ship it might be your last._

_Get your Civvies aready for another run ashore,_

_A sailor aint a sailor aint a sailor any more.”_

Old Jho, a benevolent Ithorian male, appeared behind the bar. He was the patron of the cantina since many years. Without a word he put metal boards and cake forks on their table. Then he vanished into the back of the building again.

_“_ _Well the killy cover mess says we have it soft, it wasn’t like that in his day,_

_When we were up aloft._

_We like our bunks and sleeping bags, what_ ’ _s a hammock for?_

_Swinging from the deck head or lying on the floor._

_Don’t haul on the ropes,_

_Don’t climb up the mast,_

_If you see a sailing ship it might be your last._

_Get your Civvies aready for another run ashore,_

_A sailor aint a sailor aint a sailor any more.”_

The usually breathy voice of Orson Krennic had something tender to it, while he sang to his daughter. His face was as peaceful as that of **any father performing a lullaby.**

_“_ _Well they gave us an engine that first went up and down,_

_Then with more technology the engine went around._

_We now steam and desil but what’s it mainly for?_

_A stoker aint a stoker with a shovel any more._

_Don’t haul on the ropes,_

_Don’t climb up the mast,_

_If you see a sailing ship it might be your last._

_Get your Civvies aready for another run ashore,_

_A sailor aint a sailor aint a sailor any more.”_

Crix Madine hit his smile behind his right hand. To see the director as a family man was something new and unexpected. But it seemed to be true. Perhaps Nagina’s good example had not been lost on him altogether. 

_“_ _Well they gave us a stumpiness so we could do it right,_

_They gave us a radio we signal day and night._

_We know our code and cypher so what’s the semaphore?_

_A bump n glass a dozen aint a toss any more._

_Don’t haul on the ropes,_

_Don’t climb up the mast,_

_If you see a sailing ship it might be your last._

_Get your Civvies aready for another run ashore,_

_A sailor aint a sailor aint a sailor any more.”_

Orson Krennic paused and immediately there seemed to be protest on the other end of the line. With a loud sigh, he said, “I am only human.”

For some heartbeats he listened, leaning his brow against the wall. 

“It was a long and hard day. But if you really insist...”

Then he continued with the rest of the shanty.

_“_ _Two cans of beer a day and that’s you’re bleeding lot._

_But now we have an extra one because we stopped the tot._

_So, we’ll put on our civvy clothes for another run ashore._

_A sailors just a sailor, just like he was before._

_Don’t haul on the ropes,_

_Don’t climb up the mast,_

_If you see a sailing ship it might be your last._

_Get your Civvies aready for another run ashore,_

_A sailor aint a sailor aint a sailor any more._

_Don’t haul on the ropes,_

_Don’t climb up the mast,_

_If you see a sailing ship it might be your last._

_Get your Civvies aready for another run ashore._

_A sailor aint a sailor aint a sailor any more.”_

A brief conversation followed, exchanged in loving words that were not easily to be heard any more.

Finally, the director walked back to the others, seeming somewhat exhausted, but strangely content. “Your service here is not required any longer.”

Agent Kallus frowned angrily. “By all respect, sir, choose another babysitter!”

“But she trusts you and we both know that the Coruscant nanny service does not work for her at all.” Orson Krennic took a deep breath and added, “Please!”

“If you let me fly your ship, sir?”

“Just go for the rescue, okay? Have my men pick me up in two hours. Gerrera’s cut-throats were seen in the neighbour system.”

Wordlessly, Agent Kallus got up and left the premises.

“A child changes everything, does it not?” Dravits Draven announced somewhat triumphantly.

Orson Krennic held up a tired hand. “Not now. I am off to _the loo_. If you would excuse me.”

********************************************************************

When it was safe to talk again, Crix Madine said in a low voice, “That was excellent news, was it not?”

His foster brother shook his head. “I made inquiries. The girl is not his by blood. He adopted her. She is said to be the daughter of one of his former lovers.”

“He does not take lovers as such. He has one-night-stands only. He hates commitment outside his work environment.”

Dravits Draven gave the younger man an annoyed look.

“Why should he take in the girl then?” wondered the commander.

“There is another question killing me right now, Crix. Why would that particular girl ask for a shanty from Pendar III?” 

“Your home planet?” Crix Madine asked.

“Never mind.” The speaker waved an impatient hand. “I will get to the bottom of this sooner or later.”

Orson Krennic returned from the rest rooms. There was some water on his collar. His hair line was also slightly wet.

“So you killed off the Ersos?” inquired Dravits Draven straight out.

“It is no big secret that I would like to take the _missus_ out. Her husband is better off without her.” The director stopped talking. “Why would it concern you?”

“It does not. I am just grateful you could make it to Nagina’s anniversary.”

The director blinked confused. “Of course. I happen to love her, too, you know.”

“You must indeed.” The agent grinned. “You still talk about her in present tense.”

“She is more than a grammatical matter to me.” Annoyance crept over Orson Krennic’s face. “Her kindness even touched an old _bastard_ like you, Drav.”

Crix Madine quickly raised his glass. “To Nagina then. Dearly missed by all of us.”

While the director looked uncomfortable and somewhat stricken, Dravits Draven had a full killer smile on his face.

********************************************************************

They finished the first bottle of wine in silence, each of the three Imperial officers following his own hyperspace route of thoughts. But then Orson Krennic uncorked the second bottle, stating in a crisp voice, “I would like to dedicate this one to dear old _Belch_.”

That nickname struck a cord within the two foster brothers. While Dravits Draven bolted from his seat, Crix Madine frowned.

“May Teller rest in peace!” spoke the director in unhidden satisfaction.

“Berch is not dead!” shouted the ISB agent in defiance. 

Orson Krennic smiled very much like a Loth-Cat after having licked a great deal of whipped cream. “Missing on Tarkin’s home planet is as good as a death certificate signed by a coroner.”

“Drav, what is the matter with Berch?” asked Crix Madine with a pale, worried face. 

“Shall I tell our young friend here?” the director wondered with false curiosity. “Or do you want to have the honour yourself?” 

Dravits Draven heaved a smile that seemed to have at least five-hundred tons duracrete. “The news just made it through the secret channels this morning. After committing havoc with Tarkin’s personal ship...”

“Berch wouldn’t,” argued Crix Madine, even though he knew better. His foster brother’s thoughts could be as wild and twisted as his dark corkscrew curls.

The dry laughter of Orson Krennic sounded like a gust of Tatooine wind. “But he did. He took the famous 'Carrion Spike' and made our dear Wilhuff look like a complete fool. Such actions always come with a price.”

The ginger-headed Corellian gazed the director straight in the eyes. “Nagina’s murder was never caught.”

A muscle twitched in Orson Krennic’s face. His eyes though gave nothing away. “You might remember the uproar on Coruscant the day she died. General Gentis almost killed the Emperor and Vader.”

“The timing of our sister’s murder could not have been any better,” answered Dravits Draven calmly. “Only those closest to Palpatine were informed about the coup. The public never heard a true word about it. It could as well be some urban Coruscant legend. Which leads me to believe that some very influential men are responsible for what happened to Nagina in those critical hours when the Emperor was believed to be dead.”

“You better let the entire matter rest, both of you.” There was no mockery in the director’s words now, but a great sadness. Too huge to be concealed under his usual mask of charm. “Investigating it almost got me killed as well. Even Boba Fett failed.”

“Did I?” asked a voice from behind the bar.

The men jerked their head around.

********************************************************************

A lone figure stood behind the bar.

In his full Mandalorian regalia the infamous bounty hunter had entered the building, obviously let in by Old Jho through the back entrance for personal. 

“Long time no see!” jeered the director.

Without any haste Boba Fett put all his weapons on the counter.

In no time there was a large pile of armoury.

 “Did I mention yet that this is a private party?” stressed Orson Krennic.

_“Wayii!”_ the bounty hunter replied. “ _Good grief!_ It is a memorial service for the woman who battle-adopted me after Geonosis fell.”

“Blood is thicker than water, right?” Orson Krennic cajoled.

“I am actually more interested in wine. There is this bottle of Naboo blossom wine in front of you. And I can see one wine glass that is unfilled yet. Since Agent Kallus won’t come back, I claim it. Draven, would you be so kind?”

The blond giant pulled some wine into the requested glass.

********************************************************************

Boba Fett remained silent for the rest of the evening, but he gazed at Orson Krennic occasionally. It was the superior look of a predator that knew his prey was not able to escape any more.  
  
When Dravits Draven and Crix Madine visited the gents together, he reached into the depths of his Mandalorian armour.

With no great haste he took out a holo device. A landscape appeared, showing a city surrounded by water. Massive, winged cetaceans, known as aiwhas, flew in the skies. Now and then they disappeared into the oceans.  
  
“What’s this about?” probed the director. “Are you homesick for Tipoca City? Why bother me about it?”  
  
“I am not a _wermo_ ,” the young man stated icily. “And I am still well connected. Besides, I have the money to pay for the questions that I ask. And my reputation helps me to stay alive after I asked them.”  
  
The director paled, lost for words.  
  
“Do not worry!” Boba Fett winked at the other human. “I do not intend to leak my knowledge to the Anil clan or anybody else. And certainly not to the Emperor, from whom you stole his most precious possession. Who would have thought that you have the qualities a master thief.”  
  
A shadow passed Orson Krennic’s face, giving it a demonic quality. “What do you want instead?”  
  
“Your little secret will grow and then there will be a lot of questions. Just do me the favour of keeping her hidden and out of sight at any time!”  
  
Before the director could answer, his old enemies returned. He checked his crono, hoping that Agent Kallus had reached Coruscant by now.  
  
The ST 149 had been altered to be quicker and more efficient than other Delta-class T-3c shuttles. He held no sentimentality for the craft, just had chosen it for the hotted-up engines and its unusual geometry.  
  
Boba Fett raised a hand and called out the name of the bar owner. “Hey, Jho, might you get us the two bottles of 'Port in a Storm' that I have dropped earlier on?”  
  
“Of course, sir!” replied Old Jho very politely.  
  
The three other men gave him a surprised look. That fortified, high-octane wine from Pamarthe was very expensive.  
  
“Prince Xizor insisted that I took those bottles with me after our last business meeting was over. He gives his greetings to Nagina’s foster family, Krennic here included.”

The latter swallowed nervously.  
  
“A Mandalorian toast to Nagina, okay?” The bounty hunter rose, placing his right fist above his heart.  
  
_“Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum. Nagina Cassandra Mandré Palpatine,”_ Boba Fett said, his eyes half shut and his voice firm. _I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal. Nagina Cassandra Mandré Palpatine._  
  
A harrumph sounded through the room. It was Dravits Draven. “Her last name is Samye. Not Palpatine.”  
  
“Actually, the last person she was married to is Lor San Tekka,” the director gave to consider.  
  
Crix Madine gave a startled expression. “This is classified and should remain a secret. For Lore’s sake.”  
  
“Of course,” answered Orson Krennic dryly. “We do not want to endanger the old book worm, do we?”  
  
“Oh, do not concern yourself about San Tekka,” the bounty hunter gave to consider. “He loves to smile in the face of danger. But right now he is tucked up somewhere safe.”  
  
*******************************************************************  
  
To visit Maz Kanata in her drinking hole, an ancient castle on the planet Takodana, was always a special treat. The famous pirate queen allowed travelling smugglers, adventurers and artists to reside in her home as long as they kept to her rules. To discuss politics and war around her was prohibited. A mantra was written in about a thousand languages above her bar: “All are welcome. (No fighting.)”  
  
Smiling, Lor San Tekka put his worn backpack down.  
  
“Ah darling!”  
  
His hostess had either the eyes of a bird of prey or she had felt him in the Force. Like a whirlwind she zoomed towards him.  
  
Maz Kanata was no Jedi knight and certainly not a Sith lady. But she was highly Force-sensitive. Yet that was not the reason why they had bonded so easily about a standard year ago. They both were historians of kind. The kind who visited ancient sites instead of reading about them in books and script rolls.  
  
The Jedah born human quickly took out a necklace that he had found on Ossus.  
  
“Oh, Lor,” the small orange-skinned alien laughed. “You shouldn’t have. Board and loge are always free for you.”  
  
“A friend should never come with empty hands,” he countered.  
  
“Instead of a present I prefer to see my friends alive and well.”  
  
Maz Kanata, over 900 years old, Lor San Tekka to a table that was far away from the centre of lively cantina action, but a good observation point.  
  
“This place is thriving, Maz,” he praised her.  
  
“It is but a small haven for free people,” she shrugged. “But now let us drink to your wife. It is the anniversary of her death today, isn’t it?”  
  
One of the waiters brought a bottle of Lothalian currant wine. The bubbly liquor was so dark that its purple shade looked almost black.  
  
His wife had always loved purple. But she also had looked great in other extreme winter colours. Ocean blue. Smaragd. Fuchsia. Turquoise.  
  
Thinking of Nagina made Lor San Tekka smiley. “I am glad that she is one with the Force.” He lowered his voice. “It would disturb her immensely to see what has become of Lothal, Naboo and Jedha.”  
  
His hostess gave him a stern look, which the laugh lines around her eyes smoothed out immediately. “Don’t get political now. This is about your wife and not about her uncle.”  
  
“You are right.”  
  
Maz Kanata pulled them both a glass. “To Nagina. A wonderful being that became one with the Force long before us. May we be worthy to follow her one fine day!”  
  
*******************************************************************  
  
Before entering the private apartment of his ally, Agent Alexandr Kallus took off his helmet. Not that Cassandra Morrígain Krennic was a little girl that was easy to scare, but it was a matter of politeness.  
  
He was just about to enter the access code when the door was opened.  
  
“Uncle Alexandr!” squeaked a small voice and he felt a pair of arms clinging around his knees.  
  
“You are not to open the door!” he reprimanded the six-year-old.  
  
“Not to strangers,” protested the girl. “But you are not a stranger. You are a fine Imperial officer like Daddy.”  
  
There was no way to stay cross with Cassandra for long. Her huge, innocent eyes made that impossible. Eyes that reminded him so much of Nagina, the source of the girl's DNA. The girl was a clone copy, created by no other than Emperor Palpatine.  
  
Using some mad, but genius plan Commander Krennic had kidnapped this clone from Scarif. Saw Gerrera had been framed for the explosion which had destroyed the top of the Imperial Citadel Tower. His Majesty had believed the clone chamber and its inhabitant to be destroyed.  
  
But Agent Kallus had found some inconsistencies and had investigated secretly. His efforts had been worthwhile. He had found something valuable in a militarised galaxy. A piece of happiness.  
  
Cassandra, lovingly called 'Cassie' by her adoptive father, took him by the hand and let him inside. In the living-room a hot chocolate and a board filled with Wookie cookies waited for him.  
  
“How did you know I was coming?” the ISB agent wondered, picking up her shabby looking toy dog that had been fixed countless times.  
  
“Daddy always sends you when he is busy. Right now he is on Lothal.”  
  
He could not help to think that the girl was Force-sensitive.  
  
“Did you bring me something apart from Daddy’s love?” Cassandra asked.  
  
He reached out into a hidden pocket underneath his armour. “These are grass seeds from Lothal.”  
  
Her bright smile was pure gratification. “Thank you, Uncle Alexandr.”  
  
Of course he had explained to her that he was not her uncle, but she kept saying that and kept tender hugs and kisses coming.  
  
Each time he was with Cassandra, he remembered why he was serving the Empire. To save its citizens from Saw Gerrera and other rebellious scum. The Clone Wars had proven that a galaxy, ruled by a senate was not effective. That freedom of mind and speech brought only separatist ideas with them.

**Author's Note:**

> Translation from the Chandrilan rural dialect into Basic:  
> off one's face = drunk  
> Pig’s arse! = I don't agree with you.  
> kindie = kindergarten  
> missus= girlfriend/ partner/ wife  
> bastard = Often used as a term of endearment between friends.  
> the loo = the toilet/ the rest rooms


End file.
